Milford High School - Oak Lily and Ivy Yearbook (Milford, MA)

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22 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE IMMENSITY OF SPACE. August 8, 1926. Dear Fred:— Remember this morning? You came into my office and told me to relieve myself by telling my troubles to you. “What,” you asked me, “is the matter with you lately? You’re jumpy. You’re irritable. You’re grouchy. You don’t come to see your old friends any more. Can’t you tell me, Bob? It may help, getting it off your chest, old man.” And I answered, “No, I can’t tell even you, Fred.” “But even so,” you told me, “you mustn’t let this hypochondria go on. It retards your work. Talk to me. Talk anything,—philosophy, law, divorce, love. Talk all that hellish frenzy right out of your system. Tell me about the Harrow- by case. Anything, only talk.” To this I made a general observation. “People don’t like to talk of their troubles, and if they have troubles, they can talk of them or of nothing.” “Then you won’t talk? Its for your own good, Bob.” “I’m afraid not, this morning.” “You ought to tell something to some of your friends. We’re worrying. Hang it, Bob—“you were suddenly angry—“you’re not the only one who has troubles. Other people either don’t display theirs or they display them with half-decent reticence.” Something in the way you said this made me look up. I had only to look at your twisted mouth and brooding eyes, Fred, to know that there was some¬ thing bothering you, that you had troubles far greater than mine. “Sit down, Fred.” I tried to be gentle but decidedly firm with you. “Now, what’s itching you?” You smiled weakly at my unwonted use of slang, and ineffectually you pro¬ tested that nothing was bothering you. But I insisted that there was something, and finally you broke down and cried—remember? You cried, Fred, like a baby, and finally you confessed to me your tragic affair with Judith. I admitted that I had been out of touch with affairs and that I had heard nothing of this. I was all sympathy for you, Fred, and I still am. Having unburdened your heart, you seemed quite calm. It was to be ex¬ pected that you would be relieved, but you were so calm! It seemed unnatural after the sad tale that you had unfolded. It was ghastly. And I questioned you; don’t you remember, Fred? 1 How, I asked, “can you appear so undisturbed now, after the recital of your tribulations? How have you been so calm al l these months?” And, rather dramatically, you answered my latter question. The sky, Bob,” you exclaimed, and you repeated it. “The sky! Whenever I become oppressed with the world, with financial difficulties, or with my greatest source of mental suffering, I go out and look up at the heavens, I contemplate the vastness of this universe, the immensity of space, and the thought naturally follows, What a maggot I am!’ My troubles drift away to nothingness. I was interested. I advise you,” you told me, “to try that method in attempting to remove this nameless oppression of yours.” I hen you left. You remember all this, don’t you, Fred? Is it not as I have set it down? Well, I have followed your advice, Fred. At seven o’clock tonight, I ventured into my wife’s little garden, and, alone there in the dark, I regarded the

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 21 ing of intense relief. What had happened? He reviewed the last ten minutes in his benumbed brain and all he could remember was Bill’s advice: ‘ Watch your step!” He laughed hysterically as he heard the roaring of the mad whirl¬ pool and the groans of dying men. Suddenly Ray felt the importance of his position and he issued curt orders. The men, chilled to the bone in the tomblike cold, silently wrapped themselves in blankets from the nearby cots. The lights became dim. The air became poiso n and black water seeped in, covering their prison floor. Scanty rations were doled out. The insufferable gloom and iciness of the narrow room bore down upon the imprisoned men. In the rank, sickening air an over-powering thirst clutched Preston’s throat and he cautiously leaned over to take the water jar. An arm shot out with surprising agility and grasped his pale hand. “Go easy—that’s all we have!” A sudden determination for revenge took hold of Preston’s dull mind and lifting the jar in his trembling hands he drank long and refreshingly. “You cur!” Ray snarled angrily as he sought to wrest the jar from Preston’s hands. The jar splashed into the muddy pool and the precious drops of water mingled with the icy sea. Thirst tore at the throats of the other five men, and all pinned their waning hopes on five small steel cylinders of condensed oxygen. Hours that seemed days passed in the bitter agony of a fight for life and three of the oxygen cylinders were consumed. Preston groaned and writhed on his cot and his weak body shook visibly in the uncertain light. A piercing cry rent the chilled air and five men uttered an inward prayer for their dead. The two seamen gave up the fight and rolled into the depths. Three men fixed their glazed eyes on the one remaining cylinder and only one thought reached each mind: “I must have it!” Another groan echoed in the desolate chamber, and two men faced death alone. Preston still uttered moans of agony, and his whole body was twisted with the torture of his breathing. Ray, crawling on his stomach in the icy water, reached the oxygen cylinder. One twist and he could breathe with ease! If he could only turn the valve, he might be saved. A groan rang in his ears. He clasped the cylinder in his arms and dragged it to the floor. A moan of intense agony from Preston broke the oppressive silence. Ray glanced at Preston’s face, ghastly pale in the dim chamber. Just one twist and Ray would be saved! He dragged the cylinder nearer to him and Bill’s words rang in his ears. “Watch your step!” He smiled weakly and struggled to bring the tube of the cylinder nearer his mouth and nose. Preston clutched at the empty air. A feeble whisper came to Ray’s ears. He passed the tube into Preston’s hand wildly grasping the rank air. Preston’s grip weakened, and as Ray turned the valve, the tube dropped into the dark water. A hiss, followed by the gurgle of compressed air suddenly released under deep water. Two pairs of blue eyes met as the last hope of life vanished. Moments passed. Hours. The clang of a diver’s hammer, beating against the iron sides of the S-40, echoed ominously in the still, dark grave. Marguerite Taylor, ’28.

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 23 heavens. The stars up there were twinkling. They were not warm and friendly. They were not cold and disapproving. They were merely remote, wholly unsug- gestive of any sort of intimacy between my sphere and theirs. I ran my eyes over that great expanse of sky, sky, sky. How utterly alone I was! The universe seemed the gigantic scheme of some great juggernaut who did not care for me. I was but a witful amoeba carelessly tossed into the middle of a great onrushing flood-swollen river. I was a mad creature in a cell not padded, but with iron walls. Oh, how I felt the oppressiveness of mortal existence! My affairs did not matter at all, but I wanted them to matter. O, Fred -. Fate, Fred, is peculiar. Fate sent you into my office this morning with a great burden on your heart. It sent you out comforted. It sent me into my garden tonight quite at peace. And it has sent me out of it raving. Listen, Fred: The only reason for my irritability during the past few weeks has been the ex¬ cessive amount of work that I have forced myself to do in preparation for that Harrowby trial. Morrow is a hard attorney to defeat. I’m going to ask you to take that case for me, for I shall not be here when it comes up. I see no reason for prolonging the existence of an amoeba. I am writing this in my study, but I shan’t do the deed here. I’ll be, as you would say, “half-decently reticent” about the affair. The deed will be done out in the garden after I have posted this letter to you. Goodbye, Fred. I’m sorry that I could not regard the heavens with your eyes. BOB. Robert Cenedella, ’28. THE INHERITANCE. The icy wind swept up the steep hill. The drenching rain fell in torrents, while in the dark castle all was silent. Suddenly a moan was heard in the dis¬ tance. It steadily increased in volume until it could rightly be called a scream. A thin figure jumped from the covered davenport and hurried out into a dimly lit hall. Silence, then was heard a sound of running feet, a thud, a diabolical laugh. Then silence again. Into the drawing room slouched a bent ragged-haired being, dragging along his burden. He laid it on the davenport and vanished as if in mid-air. In the distance one heard the noise of a heavy door slowly closing. i Although there were gleams of sunlight throughout the dark castle, it ap¬ peared forbidding and dismal to the two young people standing on its shadowy threshold. “Oh, Tim, how terribly gloomy it is. Listen to the river. Why it is the only happy living thing around. Let’s go and see that first.” So the two walked away, down over the steep bank and rocks to the river. Behind them stood the grim stone castle as if overshadowing their youth and vitality. “Well, Dicky-girl, what do you think of this half of my inheritance?” asked the young man as he leaped expertly onto a large rock on the very edge of the river. He turned and held out brown lean hands to help his companion as she also leaped forward, but not until she had gained a good foothold did she answer him.